


REALITIES AND ADAPTATIONS

by Tales of Josan archivist (nocturnus)



Series: Man of Property (by Josan) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Written Pre-Half Blood Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 23:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnus/pseuds/Tales%20of%20Josan%20archivist
Summary: Hermione gives birth and tries to adapt to her new life. Snape helps in a beautiful way. [ The third instalment at the Man of property series, I recommend you to start by Man of property]





	1. One by Josan

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived by Josan at Tales_of_Josan blog at Live Journal. She hasn’t updated her blog since 2008.  
> I am merely putting them onto AO3 so that they are safe from any issues on LJ.  
> I'm doing this for the purpose of preserving her fics.

Title: REALITIES AND ADAPTATIONS  
Series: The third installment in the MAN OF PROPERTY series  
Author: Josan  
Posted: July, 2005  
Rating: Still pretty PG-13  
Pairing: SS/HG, so  
WARNING 1: HET  
Warning 2: I’m mean to a couple of ‘good’ guys.  
Feedback: Leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com  
Disclaimer: JKR is the one making millions off this. Me, I just play with them.

Beta: Many, many thanks to fabularasa, for her suggestions. I think I got most of them in. And those who commented on the Hermione essay; I hope I have answered some of your concerns.

ETA: Shoot, I forgot that I had run the first part of this by kaiz last summer. Sigh, I am so getting old!

A.N.: This was begun way back in the summer of 2004, before Real Life stepped in. Since then there have been a few canon changes, aka HBP, which I have ignored to the best of my ability, except for one point since it didn’t disrupt my plot. You’ll know it when you read it. Other than that, I have no intention of allowing JKR and her vision of canon to interfere with mine. (Actually, a good portion was written prior to HBP, and what does it matter? This is all AU anyways.)

As for this being a WIP, I can’t tell you. I can tell you that this story pops up every now and then in my 3 a.m. bouts of insomnia.

Dedication: to all women who have small babies and deal with them while remaining sane. I don’t know how you do it.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Come out, you fucking bastard!”

“Yeah, come out or...or we’ll have to hurt your little friend here.”

Severus Snape, wearing his dressing gown, shut the main door of his house behind him and carefully made his way to the front gate of his property. He held his hands out at his side, making it obvious that he was not carrying his wand – or anything else, for that matter.

He quickly scanned the area, relieved to see that his unexpected visitors had not attracted any attention, thankful it was long past midnight. Merlin knew, their shouts had certainly awakened him and his household.

“Open the gate, you degenerate arsehole!”

“Yeah, do as he says, you bloody Death Eater!”

Snape came to a standstill, eyes on the two men who were so drunk that they were having trouble standing straight. Which was one of the problems he had to consider because, drunk as they were, one of them was holding a knife to Dobby’s throat.

In fact, the knife had already slipped as there was a line of blood, thin so far, running down and streaking his house elf’s clothing.

“Mr Potter. Mr Weasley. Might I suggest that you allow Dobby to breathe if you intend to continue holding him hostage for my behavior? A dead house elf has little bargaining power.”

He’d kept his voice clear and calm, his eyes holding the terrified ones of his house elf, who had been the first to hear and recognise the voices yelling at the gate, and who had, against his hastily-yelled counsel, gone out to see what they had wanted. When this was over, he fully intended to have a little talk with his house elf about leaving the safety of the wards, but right now he tried to communicate the confidence that this was going to turn out all right.

After a moment during which it was easy to see that the man had to make a conscious effort to think, Potter eased up his hold on Dobby’s neck. That allowed the house elf to drag in a noisy inhalation and to regain a little colour. Even in the light of a half-moon, he could see that Dobby was far too pale. Behind him, he heard a sudden gasp and knew that his other house elves were now witnessing this attack on a member of his household.

“I don’t want to kill Dobby,” snarled Potter, his words slurred as he bit them out. “I want to kill you, you bastard.”

Snape hoped that the others would remain out of range of any action: it was obvious that both men were drunk on more than butterbeer. He’d heard that Weasley had developed a fondness for firewhiskey and Muggle beer – as was evidenced by the paunch that mounded his robes about waist level. Potter, on the other hand, looked pretty much as he always had: still built like a Seeker, though one who didn’t play the game for more than pleasure.

Mind, they both looked their ages, far more than Granger had. Weasley was showing signs of definite hair loss – his forehead seemed to be determined to conquer more territory – while Potter’s was still the messy bird’s nest it had always been, though lighter. Snape didn’t think that had much to do with moonlight. Well, they were all getting older. And if he handled this properly, he and Dobby would have the chance to see many more years.

“Might it be permitted to know exactly why it is you wish to kill me, Mr Potter? Other than the usual ancient history.”

Weasley lunged for the gate, shaking it with his hands. Or trying to. The gates of Brewer’s Haven were well warded against entry unless their owner wished otherwise. In his frustration, Weasley spat at Snape, the glob of spittle landing nowhere near him.

Snape glanced down at the shiny wetness on the dirt of the drive and knew he had to get to the reason for all this before he lost his temper, and the Aurors would finally have a reason to drag him off to Azkaban.

Potter seemed to have reached the end of his forebearance as well. He hauled Dobby up off his feet, causing the house elf’s squeal of terror to be suddenly cut off. This time the knife was held in a trembling hand and Snape feared that there would be no reasoning with either man.

“Did you think you were going to get away with it, you...you piece of shit? That no one would ever guess?”

“Get away with what, Mr Potter?” Snape started to bring his hands to his side, in preparation of flicking his wand into his hand.

“Wand, Ron!”

And, unfortunately, the inebriated Weasley had a momentary flash of sobriety that allowed him to point his wand steadily at Snape. “Hands up, you fucker! Over your head. Or... or...” he shifted the point of his wand to Snape’s side.

Snape didn’t have to be told or what. The muffled sound indicated that one of his elves had quietly come to stand by him. Inside the wards, he and his house elves were protected, but he had no control over the ricochet. Not that he had any particular care for Potter or Weasley.

Snape began slowly raising his hands over his head. “Why, Mr Potter? You still haven’t informed of the reason for this visit of yours.”

Potter took a step forward, his face coming into the light of the moon, his hatred easy for all to see. “She wouldn’t tell us where she’d been. Except that it eventually became a little hard to hide her condition. And then one of the little bastards looks just like you. Same nose, same greasy hair. Jesus, I hope she drowns it.”

Snape said nothing though the house elf at his side gasped.

“You had to rape her, didn’t you? Your bit of revenge for being ignored all these years? You should have been Kissed decades ago, Snape.”

“Is that what she told you, that I raped her?” Snape kept his voice almost disinterested, though his heart was racing. Would she truly have accused him of that? Did she hate him that much?

“She didn’t have to tell us; we guessed. We asked her outright and she told us that you had nothing to do with anything. That we should mind our own business and she would mind hers.”

So Granger was sticking to her end of the bargain, was she? Much, it appeared, to the displeasure of these two.

Potter took another step closer to Weasley, his knife cutting the skin of Dobby’s throat. Superficial cuts as far as Snape could tell. But he could feel the anger in him, an anger he hadn’t felt in months, come to life.

“She nearly died giving birth to your leavings, Snape. She’s still at St. Mungo’s even now. And you’re going to bleed twice for every drop of blood that delivery cost her. Now open the fucking gate or we’ll see just how much blood house elves have in them.”

At last the men were now standing side by side, an easier target. If he could only find a way of distracting them...

“You is evil, Harry Potter!”

Dear Merlin, it was Mindy! She was stepping closer to the gates, her face a rictus of anger.

“You is no hero. You is worse than...worse than Lucius Malfoy!”

Both Potter and Weasley turned to deal with her and Snape proved that he hadn’t lost much ability to respond to a threat over the years. Before either man knew it, he had his wand in his hand and was casting “Stupefy!” Thank Merlin, he’d set the wards to allow him to defend if necessary.

Of course Dobby had also been caught in the spell but that was to the good as Potter’s knife was right against his jugular.

No sooner had he opened the gates than Mindy and the others were there, anxiously hopping from one foot to the other. Ola was crying silently while Clim was grim-faced. They all waited for Snape to free Dobby from Potter, which wasn’t easy as Potter was holding the elf in an almost death-grip.

First, Snape transfigured the knife to a feather, which put an end to the fear of accidentally injuring the house elf. Then he cast a spell – the same Gilderoy Lockhart had used – that eliminated the bones in Potter’s arm. In spite of all that, it took a bit of effort on Snape’s part to separate Dobby from Potter – his arm still held the stiffened muscles of a Seeker – but finally it was done.

A quick word and Dobby was unstupefied and moaning. “He’s in shock.” Snape pulled off his dressing gown and wrapped Dobby in it. “Get him into the house. Clim, get the medicine box from my laboratory. I’ll be in as soon as I deal with these two.”

Mindy lay her hand on his arm. “You is not to kill them.”

He looked down at her and, after a moment, nodded. That satisfied her. And they both knew she hadn’t forbidden him any other kind of punishment.

He waited until they were at the door to deal with the two men. The stench of alcohol had been almost overwhelming when he’d approached them and he decided to use that against them. A little Obliviate and they wouldn’t remember where they had been this night. Though he still wanted some revenge for the fear they had put him and his household through.

A few words and the two disappeared. They would be found the next morning, hung-over and naked, on the steps of the Ministry where they both worked. If life were just, it would be the Deputy Minister who would find them.

Dobby’s wounds were not deep. Clim took care of healing them: he was used to cuts and the such in his gardening. Snape dosed the trembling house elf with some Dreamless Sleep and Ola levitated him up to their quarters.

Mindy followed Snape up to his room, watching him rummage in his closet for robes that could be worn out in public. She handed him a cup of coffee and sat patiently on his bed as he bathed and dressed. She said nothing until he was at the door.

“She would not drown her babe.”

Snape stilled. He closed his eyes and wondered how Mindy had known the one thing Potter had said that had affected him.

Mindy hopped off the bed and came to stand by him. “Whatever you decide,” she said as she reached up and patted his arm. “Now go find out what the truth is.”

#####

 

He hated St. Mungo’s. The smells alone were enough to make him gag.

Snape swallowed hard as he made his way up to the maternity floor. He hadn’t stepped foot in the place since the day he’d left, and he grew angry once more with the fact that he was here now.

The medi-witch at the desk didn’t answer him right away when he asked for Granger’s room. He had tried to make his face as unthreatening as possible, but from her reaction, he doubted that it had been much of a success. And, truth be told, it was early. Barely seven. The hours of visitation were open for this ward but he was probably going to have to wait until morning rounds were done.

So it did surprise him a little when the woman pointed down the hallway and gave him the room number with the advisory, “It’s a private room so knock before you enter; she may be nursing.”

A private room? That didn’t bode well. You had to be very important or very ill to qualify for a private room. His had been one of those.

He had to wipe the palms of his hands along the sides of his robe before he knocked. The deal they had was that he was to have nothing to do with her after that horror of a night when he’d paid off yet another life debt.

“Come in.”

She was indeed nursing. She was sitting in a rocking chair, a bundle of something small to her breast. She was singing some song, not badly, from the little he heard before she looked up to see who had been knocking. Then her mouth remained opened as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

It was obvious that she’d been ill. She was thinner than she’d been last autumn. The bones of her face were accentuated and her hand, holding the child, looked fragile against the swaddling.

But her mind was no less sharp than it had ever been. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. “Let me guess, you’ve had visitors.”

Snape stayed where he was, not wanting to come closer, not wanting to give in to the sudden and surprising need to see what it was she was holding. “Last night. Or rather this morning. At least they had the courtesy of doing so at a time that did not attract attention.”

He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Was it a boy or a girl? Should he ask? Would she even tell him if he did?

“How bad was it?”

Snape didn’t answer her.

“Severus. How bad was it?”

Her tone told him she wasn’t happy with his reticence. It was a good thing she’d decided not to go into teaching. With that voice, she could have been him dealing with Longbottom. Oh, why not tell her?

“They were drunk.” He tried hard to keep his own voice even.

“Yes, they would be.”

So she knew them that well, did she? Before he could respond, she looked down at the child and did something with the hand against her breast that resulted in small sucking sounds.

Did that hurt? Funny, he’d never before even thought of a woman nursing.

“Surely the wards held?”

He nodded, trying not to look interested in what she was doing. “But Dobby was so happy to see it was his chum, the great Harry Potter...”

Her head snapped up. “What happened? Severus, did they hurt him?”

Well, she was asking. And why not tell her? After all, this was the result of her idiotic claim of life debt!

“Potter held him hostage, with a knife to his throat.” And then wished he hadn’t succumbed to the need for a little revenge for the fear he had felt that night. She went white and she hadn’t all that much colour to lose in the first place.

“He’s all right. Just a few scratches all told. Clim healed them in the space of a breath.”

Still, the colour didn’t come back. Bloody hell! What had he done?

“Look, I’m here because they said you nearly died. And looking at you, I see they weren’t exaggerating. What the...” He really couldn’t swear in front of the child. He knew enough about babies to know that wasn’t acceptable. “What happened?”

Hermione pulled the child away from her breast – Snape could feel his face warm at the sight of her nipple. He glanced away, noticing for the first time the large bassinet that occupied a corner of the room, close to the bed. Which was where she was headed, laying the child down and pulling her dressing gown close with a now free hand.

“It turns out that there was a reason I was an only child.” She turned to smile a little sheepishly at him. “I’m certain you won’t want to hear all the specifics but suffice it to say that I inherited some genetic problems from my mother’s line. I’m fine now, but it was touch and go there for a few weeks.” She shrugged before offering, a little hesitantly, “Would you like to see them?”

Snape found himself swallowing hard. “Them? Potter used the plural, but I wasn’t certain that was merely the drink speaking.”

Her smile lit up her face and he saw pride there as well as pleasure. “I was hoping for one, but it seemed that life comes with more than its share of surprises. Come and meet your children, Severus.” Then she lost that look of confidence, “If you’d like. I know that our agreement...”

He pushed off the door and advanced quickly before she thought twice and rescinded the offer. Twins. Dear Merlin! He had indeed fathered twins.

So that he didn’t immediately comprehend the presence of three bundles in the bassinet.

Her smile grew into a grin when he did.

“Bloody hell!” he gasped.

She actually giggled. “Yes indeed. Triplets. Born at close to seven months, which is why they’re small, but they are doing very well. All three have put on weight since birth and they are thriving.”

Far better than their mother if that were true.

“I have named them. Would you like to be introduced?”

He could only nod: he seemed to have lost the power of speech.


	2. Two by Josan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has to adapt herself to the reality of motherhood.

“This is the eldest. Minerva Louise. The Louise is for my mother.”

Hermione’s voice was overflowing with pride. Which took him even more aback because, as she pulled the blanket down so he could see the child’s face, he could tell this was the one who had revealed her paternity. The Prince nose was there for all to see in its full glory, even if it was baby-sized. And her hair was his, black and flat to her skull. No wonder Potter and Weasley had guessed!

“This was the second born. Another girl.” Hermione suddenly seemed a little nervous. Was there something wrong with the child? “I’ve named her Morgan Eileen.”

He was outright stunned. How had she...

“Minerva...not this one but the McGonagall...once told me your mother’s name.”

She pulled the blanket down so he could see a face that did not in the least resemble his own. He gave a small sigh of relief. One with that nose was enough, poor child.

“I was throwing a hissy-fit after you’d refused to allow me to do something and when I was done tearing your ancestry apart, she casually informed me that your mother had been a respectable lady, not...well,” she grinned, once more sheepish, “let’s just leave it at that. But she did mention her name and I thought if I was remembering my mother in one child, then it would only be fair to remember the other. I hope you don’t mind?”

Snape found he had to swallow hard in order to mumble, “No...I don’t mind.” He coughed softly to clear his throat. “In fact, my mother would have been honoured to have a grandchild bear her name. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, and I thank you on her behalf.”

Hermione only nodded. She turned back to the contents of the bassinet. “And then we have our little surprise. Even the medi-witch I saw during my pregnancy was astonished when he appeared.”

He? He had a son as well?

“Seems he spent his time nestled between his sisters and we never caught a third heartbeat. He’s also the smallest of the lot, and we thought we might lose him but he was very determined not to leave his sisters. He still looks very small compared to them...”

Small, yes, but every little feature was perfectly formed.

“But if you could hear him scream for his supper.” She laughed, that soft proud sound again.

“I’ve named him Nicholas.”

“For your father.” Snape felt relieved: hell knew he wouldn’t have wanted any child of his to bear his father’s name.

Hermione shook her head.

Snape couldn’t prevent his shock. “Not for the Gryffindor ghost?”

She laughed again. “No. My father’s name was George. But he’d had a younger brother who’d died when he was but five. My father had wanted to name his son Nicholas but then I came along. He once asked me if I would use the name if I had a son, so I have.”

“Does he have a second?”

Hermione tucked the blanket closer to her son and then went to sit in the rocking chair. Snape found he couldn’t take his eyes away from the children.  
This might be his only chance of ever seeing them and he wanted to imprint them on his mind forever.

“Yes, he has a second name. I named him for the man who helped me save his father’s life.”

Snape cringed: not bloody Potter again!

“He’s Nicholas Draco.”

In this day of shocks and surprises, this one took his breath away. Snape turned from his children to stare at their mother. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione nodded. “I had wondered. You never got the letter I sent you, did you?”

“Letter? What letter? No, when?”

“About six months after Voldemort’s end. By then we’d heard that you were still alive and I wrote to you, telling you about Draco. I knew...” She shook her head. “Minerva told me that you’d tried to get him to come over to our side. That his refusing to had hurt you as you cared for him and hadn’t wanted to see him follow in his father’s footsteps.”

She pointed to her bed and waited until he’d sat to continue.

“Well, that day, when I used my animagus form to slip past the wards Malfoy had set up on his manor, I found him. Draco, that is. In the main hallway. He’d been hit with some curse and he was dying. He’s the one who told me which wards had been set up and the easiest place to dissolve them so that the Aurors could gain entry. He also told me that you’d been discovered as the spy you were and that his father was in the process of slowly killing you. Seems he’d been cursed by Voldemort when he tried to come to your aid. He told me where I would find you. He said to tell you that you’d been right after all and that he should have listened to you. And that he loved you. Then he died. In my arms.

“I let the Aurors in and then I went to find you.”

Snape found his voice. “You idiot girl! You could have been killed!”

She sat back in her chair. “Actually, I’m the one who did the killing. I used the killing curse on Lucius Malfoy.”

Said in a calm tone that indicated she never regretted it. Minerva had always warned him that there was more to Granger than he thought.

“That stopped him from torturing you and got Voldemort’s attention. Of course, by then, Harry and Ron were right behind me and Voldemort was a little too busy to pay much attention to me. I used the fireplace to floo both of us to St. Mungo’s. They weren’t very keen on trying their best to save a wizard with the Death Mark on his arm. I had to get Poppy Pomfrey to leave her ward at Hogwarts to come scream at them. Dear heavens, I still have nightmares of her that day. She can be one scary witch when she puts her mind to it.”

Snape pushed aside her revelations: he would think upon them later. With a certain relief, he grabbed onto the other topic of conversation. “Yes, I know what you mean. She shows up once a year to give me a physical whether I want one or not. She has Mindy totally convinced that if I don’t follow her regime, I’m going to die.”

Hermione rocked back and forth as though it comforted her. “Do you mind about the name?”

Snape shook his head. “He was my godchild. By Narcissa’s request, not Lucius’s. She wanted someone with more than political connections attached to her son. And yes, I loved him. But as a name to bear...”

She smiled at him. “It’s a powerful name, Severus. And Nicholas needed a powerful name in order to live. And I think that the original Draco would have found it humourous to have a half-Muggle born named after him.”

“Humourous?” Snape scoffed. “Dear Merlin, he would have gone on for hours about the purity of blood-lines!”

She smiled. “Yes, he would have, wouldn’t he? And enjoyed every moment of his rant. You know, of all the classmates I lost during that time, he’s the one that haunts me the most. I use him to test out my logic. He was very good at Arithmancy, you know. Made me work hard for that First, even if I did beat him fair and square.”

She leaned her head back against the rocker. “I think I named Nicholas Draco not just for you but for me as well. I’m young to be a Mistress of Arithmancy and sometimes it goes to my head.” She laughed softly, a little embarrassed by what she had revealed to him. “He keeps me in my place.”

He thought she was going to add something else when they were interrupted by a knock and the opening door. The medi-wizard who entered glared at Snape, who rose to his feet. Worse yet was the sight of Poppy Pomfrey in the hallway, gesturing that she wished to speak to him. Snape realised that Hermione hadn’t caught sight of her and was watching the medi-wizard checking on their children.

He wanted to stay but knew better. A deal was a deal and now that he knew both Hermione and the children were well, he had no other excuse to use to ignore Poppy. He slipped out without a word.

#####

 

Hermione sensed him leave. For a moment there, she had hoped that his presence might mean more than it had. Of course, he would stick to the agreement. Bloody hell, she’d made him sign it. So if she didn’t like the fact that he was holding to it, she only had herself to blame.

Besides, it was amazing that he’d come here to St. Mungo’s, to check up on her, he’d said. After the night she’d blackmailed him into having sex with her, she had never expected to see him again. Or if so, that she’d need to have her wand out ready to deflect...

She didn’t regret that night. After all, it had given her what she’d wanted. Rather more than what she’d wanted. Hermione sighed. Her mother was right, yet again. She’d often quote that old cliché about being careful of what she wanted. Well, she hadn’t wanted him and his elves put in danger, which had obviously occurred.

How dare they... When she next saw them, Ron and Harry would get an earful. She only hoped – rather foolishly, if she knew them – that they hadn’t brought up that idiotic rape notion they’d latched onto.

After all these years, the level of animosity that existed between the men and Severus Snape still managed to take her aback. Dear lord, it was as if they were eleven again and forever. Yes, Snape had been hard on them while they had been students, but then he’d not been particularly nice to anyone. Other than Draco Malfoy and even then, in later years, Draco had come in for his fair share of snapping. That last year when they’d been in the special N.E.W.T.s Potion class, Snape had shown no favouritism in the least. Draco had had to work for every mark because they all knew that the Ministry, not Snape, did both the testing and the assigning of marks.

He’d given her a good run for her marks in that class as well. That he had come First, beating her out by some five marks, indicated Draco not only had a head on his shoulders, but ability as well, when he cared to use it.

“It’s a good name I’ve given you, Nicholas. A strong name. Because for all the prat that he was, Draco Malfoy picked the right side at the end. And he had courage enough to try and take on Voldemort and his father when yours was in danger. I think he would have loved having you bear his name, even if he wouldn’t have said so to me.”

Her son only suckled all the harder. Hermione sighed. She pulled Nicholas away from her breast, resettled him and reached for the bottle.

That too was not going as planned. She was not producing enough milk. Her body had failed her – yet another embarrassing tangent to this plan of hers – and her children were mainly on the bottle. Still, she was determined to nurse them as long and as much as she could: all the studies said that mother’s milk was the best manner in which to pass on immunities.

The knock on the door found her hoping for a moment then she chased it away. Time to be practical, Hermione Granger.

“Come in.”

Snape entered, looking as grim as he had when someone had returned from a mission with bad news.

“What is it?”

Snape shut the door behind him. He came to stand over her, his eyes avoiding the little of her breast visible while Nicholas was nursing. Hermione wanted to smile, but his expression worried her.

Snape took a brisk pace around the room and then sat down on the edge of her bed. He looked her straight in the face. “I’ve just had the pleasure of a session with Poppy Pomfrey.”

“Oh. My.”

Snape nodded. “Oh, my, indeed. She informed me of the reason you are still here. That they don’t want to release you to a flat where you have no one to help you.”

Hermione shrugged as she rose to deposit the sleeping child in the bassinet. “Well, to be honest, there is no one on whom I would care to inflict myself and three infants.”

Snape waited until she turned around to nod his understanding. “What about Potter or Weasley?”

Hermione scoffed. “Let’s be real. Now that they know who the children’s father is... Well, let’s just say that my patience does have limits and, with this last stunt of theirs, it’s already been surpassed.”

“And, of course, you have no house elf.”

She didn’t bother to respond to that...accusation.

“Your parents?”

“They both died some years ago.”

He wriggled as though uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I did wonder if it was because you are a witch.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, they didn’t really understand but they would have been the first to insist that I move in with them had even one of them still been here. They would have loved their grandchildren, witch and wizard or not.”

“Then there’s your book.”

Hermione laughed. She was surprised that she could do so. The mere thought of the stacks of paper that required yet another round of verification and updating awaiting her on her desk at home had been enough to send her into tears as recently as last week.

“I take it that...that your health is interfering with that?”

She had to give him credit; for a moment there, she had expected the word ‘children’ to come out of his mouth.

“Yes. By now I should be down to the final revision but with everything...” She waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “It will never be ready in time to defend at the International Arithmancers’ Convention.” She shrugged, aiming hard for a nonchalance she certainly did not feel. “Maybe for the next one. They’re held every five years.”

Snape found his hands very interesting. When he looked up, there was firm resolve in his demeanor. “As I said, I’ve had a long talk with Poppy. She...and I...feel that the best place for you and the children would be at Brewer’s Haven.”

She noted that he hadn’t said with him. She shook her head. She had no intention of imposing on him. She’d stood on her own two feet since the death of her parents two years after Voldemort’s. Besides, she didn’t think she’d be welcomed as she had been last autumn. Mindy had made her opinion of her actions very clear. And as Mindy went, so did all the house elves.

“I’m afraid that you have no real choice in this, Hermione.”

He was politic enough to sound actually regretful.

“You can’t go home alone and take care of three babies and a book. At Brewer’s Haven, you might be able to deal with all that. You know that here in the hospital, they won’t allow you to do more than nurse the children. I can easily guess at your level of frustration, being denied the right to do anything else.”

She certainly didn’t doubt the sympathy behind that comment. He, of all people, would most certainly know how she was feeling. “I am getting stronger, and I do truly know better than to overextend myself. It’s just, Severus, that...”

“I know. They mean well, but they should respect our good sense to know what we can and can’t do. It’s as if our being less than hale and hearty means we have reverted to infancy.”

She nodded. Yes, of course, he understood.

He dropped his hands flat on his thighs and sat straight. “I can promise you that I would not treat you as such. You will have total control over the children as we have agreed to, and it is the only way they will allow you to leave St. Mungo’s. Surely, Hermione, after two months, you wouldn’t be adverse to a bit of sunlight and a walk out in the orchard? And the wards did hold against Potter and Weasley. All you would have to endure is the occasional visit from Poppy. And believe me when I say that she is far preferable to the superior, condescending attitude of St. Mungo’s medi-witches and wizards.”

He stood up and came to her. “There is room for all of you. More than enough as you well know.”

She chewed on her lower lip as she thought. “The house elves. You would have to make it clear to them that I am the only one who cares for the children.”

That eyebrow of his went up but, other than that, all he did was nod.

She closed her eyes and thought the matter over. To be free of St. Mungo’s, of the periodic and, yes, upsetting visits of the Potters and the Weasleys, of her colleagues who were shocked by the birth of three when so many of them could barely tolerate their one child.

“We can put a limit on your stay, if you like. Shall we say, until after the Convention? Arithmancy is not my field but it has interested me. I could proofread while you deal with the writing. My library is still at your disposal and we can bring over yours and set it up in one of the rooms upstairs so that you will be close to the babies.”

Oh, God! She had chosen Severus Snape to be the father of her children for his intelligence. He certainly knew her well enough to know what he was offering! She knew him well enough to know if he made these promises, he would hold to them. A safe place for all her children. And to have her book ready, her other ‘child’, whom she was feeling she had abandoned....

She looked into his eyes and found she didn’t doubt his sincerity. “All right. I and the children will be pleased to accept your offer.”

#####

 

Hermione made it to the bed. With a groan, she let her body fall, face forward, onto the rumpled bedding. She’d barely settled into it the first time when the intercom she’d set up between her room and the nursery had got her out of it.

The intercom had been a compromise. At first, Hermione had wanted to sleep in the same room as her children. After all, she’d explained to Poppy, they were used to her being there.

Poppy had pointed out, rather coldly Hermione had thought at the time, that the children would not die if she weren’t by their side twenty-four hours a day.

But they nearly had, she’d replied. Nicholas especially.

Poppy had shaken her head and pointed out that children picked up the emotional concerns of their parents and her nervousness could very well interfere with their progress. If Hermione were so worried, then one of the house elves...

But Hermione wouldn’t hear of that and, for some reason which she didn’t want to elucidate to either Poppy or Severus, who was listening but not commenting, she was reluctant to use a monitoring spell. There was electricity in the house – Severus had kept it so that the local billing association would not inquire about an inhabited house that didn’t use any – hence the intercom connected between the nursery and her bedroom next door.

It had taken her a little while to get used to it. There had been times when she’d just lain on her bed, listening for a sound, any sound, to tell her the children were still alive. And when there had been too much silence, she’d hurried to the nursery, just to verify that they were all still breathing.

It hadn’t taken long for the intercom to prove its worth; Nicholas developed colic. And his fussy, cranky whine came in clearly over the intercom, an important factor as when he didn’t sleep, neither did his sisters.

Nor his mother.

She had accepted Severus’s offer, thinking that she could handle the situation, that the triplets would prove to be as manageable as they had been at the hospital. Now she was certain that Severus was regretting his offer.

There hadn’t been a night when one or another or, more usually, one after another of the children had demanded immediate attention. And the days were no better. She could count on one hand the hours of uninterrupted sleep she’d had since arriving a month ago. If it wasn’t colic, it was feeding, it was changing, it was cleaning, it was washing. The number of nappies three babies required on a daily basis... Not to mention the preparation of bottles.

She loved her children. She adored them. But why wouldn’t they let her have a few hours of unbroken sleep?

Hermione rubbed her face against the duvet leaving stains of wetness, not surprised to discover she’d been crying again without being aware of the fact. She was doing a lot of that as well these days. God, but she was so tired!

Maybe it would have been fine if she’d had to deal with only one child. There would have been no chain reactions. And twins, she might have dealt with that as well. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so ill after delivery. But three...

How did people do it?

Hell, what was the matter with her that she was having such a difficult time with getting things organised? Surely there was a way of getting the children onto a schedule that allowed her time to rest? God, she could find Order in the Universe; why were three tiny children proving to be so unmanageable?

And her book. All this was supposed to have been so that she would have time for her book.

Time for her book? She’d sat down to work on it only that one time, that very first afternoon.

Her book. Her other child. Abandoned.

After all of Severus’s thoughtful planning. He had set up the bedroom next to his, the one directly across from the nursery, as her work area. There was a lovely large desk with a case to one side for blank parchment rolls just begging to be filled with the final version of her book and another on the other side for her notes and a jar filled with quills and he’d brought all her books from her flat and ...

She sniffed, using the end of her sleeve to wipe her eyes and nose.

It was a perfect work space for her and she had barely been in it since they’d arrived!

Hermione buried her face in the duvet, muffling her sobs. To hell with the book. And, God forgive her, right now, to hell with the children! She wanted sleep. And why was it that now the children were finally quiet, she was too tired for sleep?

She wondered if Severus was getting much of that. He hadn’t insisted on a silencing spell for the nursery. And he hadn’t cast one, she would be able to tell immediately, even in this sleep-deprived state.

No, he’d made no comment at all about the situation. As he’d promised, he stayed out of her way and she rarely saw him. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

And he must have made her condition of coming known to the house elves as she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of them since her arrival. But they must all know by now what a failure she was as a mother. How could they not? Mindy must be telling the others how this was her just results for her blackmail of Severus.


	3. Three by Josan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus secretly bond with his babies. Hermione faces the exhaustion of dealing with three newborns babies and has a hard time accepting that she may be wrong.

Hermione rolled over on her back as she reached for the box of tissues she kept next to her pillow. She blew her nose, loudly, then wiped her face. Again.

Her throat was aching-dry so she reached for the glass of water by her bedside. Between the breast-feeding and the copious amount of tears she was shedding, she was forever thirsty.

She was trying to convince her body that it should grab this rare quiet moment to succumb to unconsciousness when she heard coming from the intercom what had by now become the dreaded sound. Tears welled up in her eyes and her nose grew immediately stuffy. To think she had once been so worried about its silence!

Hermione lay there, not moving, trying not to weep aloud for fear of augmenting the small grumble she’d heard. Oh, please. No. Let whoever it was just turn around and go back to sleep. She’d just got Nicholas down and it didn’t take much to wake him. Please.

But the sound got louder and more demanding.

Hermione sniffed, the tears running into her mouth. She had to get off the bed and go deal with... But her body wasn’t co-operating and all she wanted to do was pull the pillow over her head and scream. Or ignore the sound and just go to sleep. Surely other mothers did that. Didn’t they?

Only, said a mean, little voice in her head, if they were monsters.

Hermione nodded her agreement and propped herself up on her elbows in preparation to forcing her body to roll off the bed when another sound joined the first coming from the intercom. It took her a moment to decipher it not as a new baby sound, but as an adult voice, speaking softly.

Stunned, Hermione froze.

Shhh. Stop that. You’ll wake your mother up and, Merlin knows, the woman is in need of sleep.

Severus? What was Severus doing in the nursery? To the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t even stuck his nose around the door to look at the children since the first day, when he’d verified that she had found all the items Poppy had stocked for her.

Minerva, stop that noise.

HA! Did the man think that a three month old infant was going to obey him as his students had? He was delusional.

So she was stunned when Minerva’s grumbly whine, her pay-attention-to-me-I’m-the-eldest whinge, turned into a...a coo!

Much better, young lady. No need to wake the whole house up with your demands. There are people trying to sleep, you know.

Oh, God! He had noticed.

Now what seems to be the problem? Oh. Yes. I see. Wet nappie. Yes. Well.

Though not loud, it was easy to tell that his sigh was one of disgust. Hermione tried to get her body to move but it refused even to think of it.

I suppose that’s only logical. What goes in has to come out.

No kidding!

All right. I think the procedure goes as follows.

What? Severus was going to deal with this? Hermione was too stunned to do more than listen.

First, clean nappie from the pile there. Second, I remove you from the crib... Must you wriggle so? If I drop you, neither your mother nor yourself will be very happy. Thank you.

Hermione allowed her upper body to drop back onto the bed. Severus was dealing with Minerva, who was cooing happily in accompaniment to his softly spoken comments.

Yes, I can see why you would protest the wearing of a wet article of clothing. Very uncomfortable. No, I don’t think your fist can fit into your mouth, but I suppose you may keep on trying if it keeps you from crying out. Now, where does she put these things after... Oh, yes, I see. And what are these for? Hmm, yes, I suppose that a wipe is preferable before the clean item is put on. Er, I suppose this thing goes with the other?

No, it didn’t, Hermione nearly answered him aloud but slapped her hand over her mouth in order to shut up and listen.

How does this thing stay put? Yes, I know there are these pin things, but, frankly, you’re wriggling far too much for me to try. Your mother may be sleeping now, but if I miss, your screams will bring her down on both of us. Yes, I think a simple Adhaeres will do the trick. No danger of injury to either of us this way.

What? He was using magic on her child? How dare he, when she was so careful not to...

I must confess to you, Minerva, that I do not understand your mother. You would think the woman who will probably prove to be the most powerful witch of her generation, if not others, would make up her mind. Is she witch or is she Muggle?

What the hell was he talking about?

If the latter, then she really should go back to that world. I mean, what is the use of being able to do all this baby care stuff with just a few words and the wave of a wand but never to take advantage of the matter? Hell... Oh, I beg your pardon. Language. Sorry. Yes, well may you laugh, but if she heard me, you mother would ban me forever from your sight.

No, she wouldn’t. She’d thought that he... Oh, God, she was tired. But she wasn’t using magic not because she didn’t know... Well, how good could it be for babies?

As I was saying... Shhh, don’t fuss. Oh, I see. You don’t want to be put down. Well, it is the middle of the night, young lady. Not time to go gallivanting around.

Gallivanting? What the hell did the man think a three month old was capable of? Hermione sighed and once more tried to get herself up. But she’d underestimated Severus. Not for the first time and, she admitted ruefully, probably not for the last. He’d understood why Minerva was fussing.

Hungry? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Yes, why should I be surprised? If it comes out, it has to go in. I hope you don’t mind, but unlike your mother, I shall conjure up a bottle.

Conjure? Bloody hell! Hermione didn’t even dare Accio a bottle! How dare he!

Body temperature, I believe Poppy instructed.

Poppy? He’d got Poppy involved in this? Hermione stayed where she was.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, now she was going to be the laughing stock of the entire wizarding world! Okay, maybe not the entire wizarding world, but of Hogwarts for sure. This would be too good for Poppy not to share with the staff there. Hermione Granger, youngest Arithmancy Mistress in over seven centuries, and too stupid to take proper care of her own children!

There. Comfortable? Oh, yes, you certainly are hungry. Must you make those noises? They sound rather rude. I hope you grow out of them.

Hermione could hear the creak of the rocking chair. Had Poppy instructed Severus on the proper method of feeding a baby as well?

Now where was I? Oh, yes. Your mother and magic. I wonder if she thinks Molly Weasley dealt with all of those children of hers without magic.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Molly Weasley. How had the woman dealt with seven children? Well, yes, but she’d known her children were wizards and witches and... Hadn’t she? Besides, it wasn’t as though she could contact the woman, not these days, what with the way she’d told Ron and Harry off about their midnight visit to Brewer’s Haven.

True, there were no triplets in Molly’s brood, but the Twins... Well, if they’d been anything as children as they had been as teenagers... And there weren’t that many years between the Weasley children. How had she handled all... But she had. And she might have been a little weird, but she was definitely not crazy. Not like Hermione felt she was going.

Minerva seemed to have obeyed Severus yet again. Hermione shook her head. The small slurping sounds she made when nursing were no longer to be heard. And knowing her daughter, she hadn’t fallen asleep. Not Minerva. Now Morgan would do something sensible like that, but Minerva? Minerva needed conversation. Mind, she was getting it, and from a source other than her weepy, boring mother.

Yes, one day, your mother and I must have a discussion about this fear she has about using her powers.

Minerva had the audacity to agree with him.

Her pleased coo prickled Hermione. Here, all along, she had not been using magic for fear it might cause harm to her children... The books she’d read hadn’t included a chapter on the effect of magic on newborns. Not that she’d expected that in the those she’d bought from W. H. Smith. But even the ones from Flourish and Blotts didn’t cover that subject.

Just because her children were the issue of a powerful wizard and witch, well, there were no guarantees that any of them had inherited that ability. For all she knew, the three of them were Squibs. And Angus Filch was a Squib raised among wizards and look how he had turned out!

Hermione turned a deaf ear to that small inner voice who was trying to remind her that Filch had died fighting Death Eaters who had tried to invade Hogwarts.

Have you done with this? No? Then might I suggest that you take your feet down from the bottle and let me do my job. Yes, that’s better. Oh, dear Merlin, when you’re old enough, you are going to have to convince your mother to do something about that nose.

Hermione found the energy to sit up. What the hell was the man talking about?

Bad enough when a male inherits it, but for a girl? It made my mother’s life a misery. And your mother can’t tell you no...

Oh, really? And on what grounds...

...’cause if she does, you can just remind her of those teeth of hers.

Oh, damn! She’d actually forgotten about that. But she’d been a teenager when she’d dealt... Draco had hexed her and what was she suppose to do? Her parents kept on telling her... But a nose? Besides, what was the matter with her daughter’s nose? It was a little bigger than the norm, but what was Severus doing, imposing his mother’s problems on...

Minerva turned suddenly cranky as she was wont to do when finished feeding. Hermione pushed herself to her feet. She wasn’t certain if burping had been included in Poppy’s instructions. Staggering to the door, she held onto the wall as she made her short way to the nursery.

There she discovered that burping had indeed been covered. Minerva let loose with a small explosion and some of the milk made its decorative way down Severus’s shoulder.

Leaning against the doorframe, Hermione found she could smile at the disgruntled expression on Severus’s face as he held Minerva at arms’ length away from him and turned his nose up at the aroma of regurgitated milk.

“Next time, put a nappie or a towel on your shoulder.”

For a moment, she thought Severus was going to drop Minerva. Her daughter had far more confidence in her father as she gurgled at him, once more trying to fit her fist into her mouth.

“Hermione.”

It had been over twenty-five years and he could still sound like the disapproving taskmaster of a Potions instructor he’d been.

“Severus.”

“I had hoped you’d be sleeping.”

Hermione shook her head.

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Severus stood up and came over to hand Minerva over. Hermione shook her head again.

“If you place her down now, she’ll go to sleep. She just likes a little conversation.”

She had surprised him. He was awkward in his handling of the baby, but Hermione made no comment. She hadn’t been all that much at ease either when the children had first been born.

“On her back. And if you give her tummy a rub, she’ll smile for you.”

Hermione watched Severus remain by the crib until she knew that Minerva had fallen asleep. That one was quick to wake, but equally quick to fall asleep.

When he turned, his face was completely expressionless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Severus. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve just realised that the reason you didn’t come see them was because of me. Because of our agreement.”

Severus shrugged. As if he didn’t care. But she’d heard him, heard the affection in his voice. These were his children – his, not just hers – and they were in his house. How could she not have thought to involve him?

Or maybe he’d got involved tonight just because he couldn’t stand hearing the noise? Her voice sounded tentative to her ears when she offered, “I think that since matters have changed so, that maybe, if you are in accord, we should forget about the agreement...for now.”

Severus’s eyes looked... It wasn’t until he glanced over his shoulder at the two other cribs in the room that she realised it had been a look of hunger. Dear God, how could she have been so blind as not to understand that he, no less than she, loved these children? And probably from the first moment he’d spied them. Well, why wouldn’t he? They were a marvelous miracle!

He turned back to her. “Yes, I would be agreeable to that.”

Yes, she certainly didn’t doubt him.

“And,” he added, hesitantly, “if I could be of help?”

Hermione gestured with her head to one of the cribs. “Since you handled Minerva so ably,” she’d have to talk to him later about why he should at least limit his use of magic around the children – right now she didn’t want him to rescind his offer of help, “maybe you would like to see if your...magic will work as well on your other daughter.”

Severus glanced over at Morgan’s crib.

Actually, Hermione was surprised that she had slept through Severus’s care of Minerva; that one didn’t like to miss out on any activity.

“Just one hint, if I may?”

Severus nodded, now obviously not so certain that he should have made the offer.

“Unlike Minerva who expects conversation, Morgan likes it when you sing to her.”

“Sing!”

“Shhhh, don’t wake the others. You don’t want to have to handle all three at the same time. Believe me.”

Hermione turned to leave, maliciously ignoring the slight look of panic on Severus’s face. But she couldn’t resist... Well, she would tell herself it was because she was so tired, but before she closed the nursery door behind her, she poked her head back in.

Morgan was now definitely awake and less certain than Minerva had been about this stranger staring at her.

“If Nicholas wakes, don’t let him have more than half a bottle. He’s already had one tonight. Try burping him before you give him anything and if he doesn’t stop crying, try rocking him lying face down on your lap. Don’t forget to rub his back, that helps with the colic. Make certain you have a towel on you when you do; your son tends to burp and regurgitate more than your daughters do. After all that, if he still hasn’t stopped crying, then give him the bottle.” Not waiting to see or hear Severus’s reaction, she whispered as she closed the door, “Good night, Severus. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And Hermione was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

#####

 

A week later, not quite caught up on all the sleep she’d missed, but enough so that she felt she could string a coherent sentence together, Hermione sat at the desk in her workroom.

The children, all three of them, were down for their afternoon nap, miraculously asleep all at the same time. And if the past week held true, they were down for a good three hours at least. Since Severus had joined her in their care, they seemed far more willing to hold to a schedule.

And she didn’t fool herself into thinking it had anything to do with her. Heaven knows, she had tried. But the moment Severus had entered the nursery, the children seemed to have understood that he could not be manipulated the way they did her. Three months old and they responded to his softly spoken dicta. When he said, “No, Minerva, don’t make bubbles with your milk,” Minerva stopped playing with her feeding. When he told Morgan that she would have to do with his recitation of potions recipes rather than a song, she was more than willing to listen. Mind, considering the soothing cadence of Severus’s voice when he spoke, Hermione had to agree with her daughter that it was better than her singing.

As for Nicholas and his colic, well, Poppy had warned her that her fatigue and nervousness were too easily picked up by the smallest of her children. Hermione knew it was not her imagination that Nicholas was easier in his father’s hands than in hers. She’d come into the nursery one late hour to find Severus in the rocking chair, shoulder covered with a small towel, holding his son against his chest as both father and son slept. When she’d tried that, Nicholas had only wriggled and squirmed, crying irritably.

Now, sitting at her desk, pulling the last series of calculations to her, Hermione tried hard to push away the inkling that, of the two of them, Severus made the better parent.

For a moment she felt the tears well up in her eyes. She reached for a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose. She had wanted these children... Well, she had wanted a child. In her plans, she thought she had covered all possibilities for its role in her life, the modifications she would have to make and the love that would make them palatable to her ordered mind.

Maybe it was because there were three...

And the compromises! Them for her book and her profession. Care for sleep. Muggle tradition for magic!

And on that last, she still found it difficult to move. Even when Poppy had surprised them all with a visit and a quick evaluation of the situation.

“Hermione Granger,” she’d snapped in disgust once Severus had safely disappeared into his laboratory. “You are not performing Dark Magic on these children. What you do will in no way affect them. The child rearing and caring spells are there to help you, not to injure the babies. Besides, what do you think is in your milk besides the usual human immunities?”

Hermione hadn’t been able to hide her horror. Poppy had sat down next to her, taken her hand and explained that even if a child had no magic in him or herself, there was no harm done. If there was nothing for a mother’s magic to cling to, then it merely passed out of the child. Hermione wasn’t keeping her children “undefiled” – Hermione had shuddered at the word – by not using basic cleaning and caring spells.

Besides, Brewer’s Haven was drenched in spells and wards that were there to keep, among others, the children safe.

But Hermione had discovered she was still Muggle enough to hesitate. Severus, of course, felt no such hesitation, and the children didn’t seem to be inhibited in any way. Still...

Yes, she had spent more time in the world of magic than the one of her childhood, but there was a little part of her which still considered magic to be...weird. Unnatural.

It had set her apart from other children – her parents hadn’t engaged in many play-dates once her magic had made itself known. And there had been so many rules to maintain when she’d begun school. So much easier to sit in a corner with a book than try and play, what with having to be careful of everything she did and said.

She never doubted for one moment that her parents had loved her, but she knew just what a trial she had been to them. How relieved they had been when her letter from Hogwarts had arrived and, with it, an explanation of this child of theirs. Once she’d left for her new school, they had taken up the normal social life they’d had with friends and family, without having to deal with comments about their ‘weirdo’ daughter.

She didn’t want that kind of life for her children.

Of course, if they were magical, then her refusal to use magic wouldn’t hurt them. If they weren’t, then... But if her magic could be transmitted via her milk...

There were times she wished there was someone she could speak to, someone who, like her, had a foot in both worlds. But she had no Muggle friends of her age and her colleagues, like Poppy, would never understand her reticence.

So she took care of the feeding and the cleaning and the washing of her children by hand, and tried hard to turn a blind eye to Severus’s use of magic. To Poppy’s displeasure, she still refused to allow the house elves to help in any way, shape or form.

“Surely you can allow them to deal with the laundry, Hermione. I mean, you do accept food from them. How much more difficult can it be for you to accept their help?” Then Poppy had dangled what she obviously had considered to be the right carrot. “If you did, you would have time for your book. The Arithmancy Conference is now only seven months away. And though your publisher can probably release enough copies in time for the event, he really does need the proofs a good month, preferably two, before hand. Doesn’t he?”

But Hermione had only shaken her head. She had no choice about the food – Mindy wouldn’t let her near the kitchen – but as for the rest, no matter how good a Master Severus was to them, the elves were still enslaved. She may have left the trappings of SPEW behind, but not the philosophy.

And honestly, did Poppy really think that her book was more important to her than her children? What kind of a mother did she take her for?

Oh, God! There she was, weeping again! Would this never stop? Hermione wiped her eyes and sniffled as she tossed yet another pile of tissues into the wastebasket. She’d read about ‘the baby blues’. Even witches were known to suffer from that form of depression. Maybe it made them think that they too were failures as mothers.


	4. Four by Josan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mindy has a gentle way to bring reality to Hermione and with no judgment on her.

“Miss Hermione?”

Hermione sniffed as she looked over her shoulder. Mindy was standing by the door, looking worried.

The fact that the house elf was showing herself to Hermione made her stupid. Then, “Is there something wrong with the children?” She rose to her feet, shoving the chair behind her.

“No, Miss Hermione. The babes still be sleeping.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks. All right. The children were fine. Besides she couldn’t hear anything coming from the nursery and its door was open. Why then would Mindy...

“Severus? Is it Severus? Has anything happened to him?” She took a couple of steps towards the door. He had informed her that he would be some time in the lab this afternoon, working on a potion. Had there been an accident? Was he injured?

“No, no, Miss Hermione. Professor is all right. He busy in lab. Dobby is with him. Helping.”

Hermione blanked on whatever reason Mindy might then have to be here, in her room. The elves had made their position very clear on hers and the children’s presence in the house by never showing themselves. Even Dobby.

“What is it then, Mindy?”

Mindy sighed and tangled her hands in the bottom of her pillow case. This one, Hermione noticed, was covered with the different images of the same football player, the one they called Beckham. He got a lot of coverage in Witch’s Weekly, even if his magical powers were so weak as to make him practically a Squib.

Hermione waited. It was obvious that whatever had driven Mindy to seek her out had not been an easy decision on the elf’s part. It was equally obvious the moment that Mindy took her resolve in hand. She stopped fidgeting and looked up, “Miss Hermione, Mindy wants you to come with her. Please. You is not to worry about the babes, Ola will be in the hallway.”

Hermione glanced over at the desk with her work then put the thought of saying no to Mindy aside. If she was not mistaken, this was the offer of an olive branch and she was not so stupid as to reject it.

“Yes, of course, Mindy. I’ll come with you .”

After glancing into the nursery to make certain the children were still sleeping, she nodded to Ola then followed Mindy down to the kitchen. A room she had never been permitted to enter, even under Sanctuary.

It was a cheery place, with a large window over the sink, bowls of flowers and apples decorating the neat counters and, to her surprise, an elf-sized table with four chairs in a corner.

Hesitant, as though suddenly realising that the chairs were too short for Hermione, Mindy sighed and looked around, as though searching for something larger. Hermione pulled out one of the armless chairs and sat herself down. It was like being an adult at a child’s table. Her knees came up rather high, but all in all, the seat, which was cushioned, was not uncomfortable.

Mindy smiled nervously as she pulled out another of the chairs. She sat down and played with her hands before placing them on the table. She looked up. “Miss Hermione.”

“Yes, Mindy.”

“When Professor came home from hospital and told Mindy and the others Miss Hermione was coming, we was all very happy. We was all looking forward to seeing the babes and helping.”

Hermione went to speak, but Mindy held up her hand and actually glared at her. “Professor told us that you wanted us not to go near the babes. We was very hurt. We thought maybe you think we will hurt the babes.”

“No,” Hermione ignored the glare, “no. It’s just...” How could she explain the concept of liberty and free will to elves who...

“Then Dobby explained about SPEW.”

“Ah, then you understand.” Hermione felt somewhat relieved. If Dobby had explained properly...

“SPEW is ridiculous! Miss Hermione does not understand elf ways.”

“Mindy, the oppressed...”

A very definite raspberry escaped Mindy’s mouth.

“Enslavement of any kind...”

Another raspberry. Then before Hermione could stand up and leave, Mindy once more held up her hand.

“House says maybe you not understand as it had not understood.”

“House? Is House a new house elf?”

Mindy sighed loudly as though the question irritated her. “Miss Hermione means well. But she not know about house elves at all. House didn’t know either until we wakes it. Now it understands. It says that maybe it can make Miss Hermione understand as well.”

Hermione was completely confused. Who was House and what should she understand?

Mindy got up and went over to one of the partially exposed support beams that stood to a side in the kitchen. It was black with age, wide, at least eighteen inches across, and rose from the floor to disappear, Hermione supposed, upstairs.

“Come here, Miss Hermione. Come meet House.”

Hermione went to stand by the beam Mindy was pointing to.

“Put hands on it, flat.” The elf ducked under Hermione’s arms to stand between her and the beam. “A little lower so that Mindy can place her hands on yours. Now then, Miss Hermione, close your eyes and listen. Listen to House.”

Mindy’s hands pushed on hers as she leaned her forehead against the beam and began murmuring sounds that Hermione could not decipher. She heard sibilants and rolled rumblings and some that were completely new to her ears.

And then it happened. She heard something. Without hearing it. Not with her ears, but with her... With her hands. Through her hands.

Hermione also leaned her head on the beam and concentrated on the hearing. Not words. Not really sounds. More like sensations and...images. Satisfaction: Severus in his laboratory, stirring a cauldron, his face intense in its focus. Pride: Dobby at his side, holding a bottle in each hand. Pleasure: Clim in the greenhouse, the image not so focused as that of Severus and Dobby, but clear enough for her to see he was pruning some plants. Anxiety: Ola in the hallway opposite the nursery, her eyes wide. Peace: the nursery itself, with the children sleeping, though Nicholas was moving as though thinking of waking. A flash of worry: Ola, pacing at the doorway, eyes nervous and wringing her hands until it became obvious that Nicholas was not waking. Then she just stood in the doorway, watching.

Mindy removed her hands from Hermione’s and patted the beam. The sensations and images disappeared and Hermione stayed there, eyes tightly shut, still leaning against the beam, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“That is how house elves know when they is needed by the Master of the House. It speaks to us.”

Hermione straightened. Still not really understanding, she turned to Mindy who was now sitting at the table. The elf snapped her fingers and a tea tray complete with a plate of Hermione’s favourite biscuits appeared.

“House, when we arrived here, did not know us. It was...sleeping. We woke it.”

Hermione took back her chair and clasped her hands on his knees. “You woke it?”

Mindy nodded. She took the teapot and poured two cups, one so small and delicate, it was almost transparent, the other from the breakfast service.

“House was built after elves had left the trees it is made from.”

She added two sugars and a dash of milk to the large cup, just as Hermione liked, before offering the tea. Hermione took it, not really aware that she was doing so.

“After the elves had left the trees?”

Mindy nodded. She took four sugars in her tea, making it syrupy in the small cup. “House did not know about elves. Like Miss Hermione not know about elves. Miss Hermione thinks we always house elves, but we not. We be tree elves. Long, long ago. But we still bound to the trees and their wood, not to witches and wizards. Dobby explained about this slavery. He found it in a book of the Headmaster. We is not slaves, Miss Hermione. We stay in houses because that is where our trees are. We serve the Master of the House, because the House might die if Master not care for it properly. But even if Master thinks he is Master of elves, he is not. He has only the power to send us away.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Mindy nodded. “That is what House say. Maybe if Mindy explains it to Miss Hermione like Mindy did to House?”

“Yes, please.” Hermione took a sip of her tea. She never noticed how many times it refilled itself as Mindy explained.

Before there be witches and wizards, there be elves. All kinds of elves. And not just elves. There were other spirits. But the elves we are, are the most important to the trees.

We lived in the trees. In them, in the wood. Inside the trunks. We could come out when we wanted. To play in the leaves. To see that the trees were well. To court. When there be too many elves for one tree, an elf left and moved to a younger tree. Sometimes the tree died and then all elves had to move. Well, those who not die with tree. Sometimes too many elves even for young trees, so some elves, braver ones, travelled far away to find trees that needed them.

Dobby like those elves.

We be very happy in our trees. But then people arrived. Men and women who did not see us or hear us. Then witches and wizards who did. They were careful with trees. They asked us permission to use them for their houses and if the tree dying, we give it. They always allow us time to move on before they cut. But men and women did not ask, they just cut. And when they took wood with them, the elves went also. But men and women not see elves.

It was a sad time for elves when they lost their tree. At the beginning, the elves in the tree were caught there and died there. But sometimes they managed to get out and they stayed with their tree in the house. As Mindy say, men and women not see elves. But witches and wizards did. And sometimes they get the house with the elves.

Elves not want to leave the house. But witches and wizards were uneasy with elves, so elves tried to make witches and wizards more easy. We begin doing things for them. Like cleaning. That was good for house so elves like doing that. And gardening. All those plants like little baby trees, and we elves good with trees. With plants. Like Clim is.

So, after many, many years, there are many elves in houses and less and less in trees. Men and women cut down many for their houses and a tree must be many years old before it understands about elves. When it is cut down before it understands, well, it like House here. But the trees in House now know that elves be here and House talks to us. We takes good care of it. It be why house elves like to clean and polish and take care of houses.

As for the Master of the House, we takes care of him and his also. If he happy, then House can feel this happy and be happy. If he sad, then House sad. And if he be too sad, then the House goes to sleep, so it not be as sad.

Some Houses never wakes up. There not be as many tree elves as there be needed. Some be only in hands of men and women and so those houses never wake.

This House be very old. The wood of the tree Miss Hermione touch is older than the wood of Hogwarts. But it never awakened because we be the first elves here.

Mindy cocked her head slightly. “House did not understand when we wakes it, but now it does. Do you, Miss Hermione?” She sat back in her chair and gnawed nervously on her bottom lip.

Hermione put down her cup and looked around the room. “The House is awake. That’s why it can see what is going on.”

Mindy nodded.

“And since you are tree elves, you can see what it sees.”

Mindy frowned as she once more tried to explain. “Sometimes it tells us and we listen. But not this House. It be still too new to wakedness. Shows more than tells. Not like Malfoy Manor. It always be in wizard hands and so we elves there listened to it. It was a proud House but not a happy House.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.” Hermione sat back in her chair. “Is this House happy?”

Mindy nodded. “Oh, it likes being awake.”

Hermione realised that Mindy hadn’t really answered her question. If the House were as sensitive to emotions as she thought it was, then the last few weeks must have been anything but happy. “So, just to be certain I understand...”

Mindy waited, face very serious.

“House elves are called that because you belong to the House, not to the Master of the House.”

“We not belong, we is bound to House and its wood from our trees. It be our home.”

“And if this House were suddenly to become peopleless...”

“Miss Hermione means no witch, no wizard, no man, no woman. No one at all?”

“Yes.”

Mindy shrugged. “Then we still stays. We stays until House be no more, like it be burnt down, or something makes us leave.”

“And clothes,” inquired Hermione, “can make you leave?”

Mindy nodded. “If we have clothes, we can not live inside the tree. We wear what we wear because witches and wizards uncomfortable with us as we are. But it be only for cover. Real clothes mean we must leave House as we no longer part of it. And if we not find another tree for home, then we dies.”

“So, in other words, when I knitted all those hats, I could have been killing you.”

Mindy shrugged, not all that concerned. “Clothes has to be given by Master. At Hogwarts, Master be Headmaster or Headmistress. They know not to give clothes unless extreme punishment.”

“Did Lucius Malfoy give clothes?”

Mindy snorted. “Malfoys never give clothes, except to Dobby. And that because of Harry Potter.” She sighed, “Dobby very upset with Mister Harry Potter.”

“Good. Miss Hermione is also very upset with Mister Harry Potter.”

Mindy rose and went to stand in front of Hermione. “Please. Now you understand, please, may we help with the babes? We are not slaves. We love this House and it be unhappy with hearing Miss Hermione crying. With Professor upset and worried about her and the babes. We not want to hurt babes or you, but we want to help. Please, let us help.”

#####

 

Severus looked over his shoulder at the door that was opening. The last person he expected entered his lab and sat on the top step. She propped her elbows on her knees, her chin on her closed hands and sighed loudly.

“Hermione?”

“I suppose,” she sighed again, looking quite discouraged, “that you know all about house elves.”

He checked the potion and decided it could bear being unattended for a few minutes. “You mean about the fact they are bound to the house?”

She nodded.

He leaned back against his work counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. That’s part of a decent Dark Arts curriculum. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been a decent one of those at Hogwarts in generations.”

“But wizard families would know this.”

Severus nodded.

Hermione grimaced. “That’s why everyone laughed at me about SPEW. Why didn’t they explain it to me?” She paused then held up her hand. “Don’t tell me. They thought it so funny that little miss know-it-all Mudblood...”

“Hermione. I have no idea why no one told you. Or,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder, “why you never asked anyone. But now that you know...”

She ignored his mumbled comment. Maybe she hadn't heard him. “Ola is keeping an eye on the children. She’s promised to have House let Mindy know when any of them wakes and she’ll let me know...”

“That’s very kind of you. I know that both Ola and Mindy have found the past weeks particularly difficult.”

Hermione shrugged. Both of the elves had wept when she’d decided to accept Mindy’s history and had indicated that she would seek their help from now on.

“Is that why you don’t see house elves in newer buildings? Wood not old enough?”

“Beams not large enough. There has to be the equivalent of an entire trunk in one part of the house for them to be able to function. Builders haven’t used beams of that size in many years. This house is relatively old, in some of its parts...”

“The kitchen.”

Severus nodded. “It’s why I gave them the second storey of that part to live in.”

“Literally in.”

Severus shrugged. “I doubt it. Over the millennia, house elves have lost some of their abilities to merge completely with wood, though they do have a certain affinity for it. It’s one of the reasons Dobby is so able with wooden items, at restoring them. It’s why Clim is so good with plants and growing.”

“I suppose you’re going to say that it’s why the females have an affinity for cleaning and cooking?” Hermione grumbled.

Severus smiled. “Actually, that’s because females find it easier to talk to houses than the males do. Males are better with living trees than with awakened wood. And houses seem to prefer females to males for passing on information.”

“And,” Hermione looked suddenly uncomfortable, “just how much information does House pass on?”

Severus checked his potion before turning back to Hermione. “Actually, houses are very discreet.”

“But it is how Mindy knew about that last night of Sanctuary.”

Severus went back to his potion. There were some things he preferred not to remember. Even with the consequences there had been.

“A house tends to pick up emotions more than actual activity. Besides, elves are discretion itself. They don’t gossip, not even among themselves, never about their Houses’ families.”

He waited until Hermione had left to turn around. “But,” he told the space where she’d been sitting, “they don’t like unhappiness. And they don’t need House to tell them where it lies.”


End file.
